


And Through The Trees

by MagpieMorality



Series: Fae Sides Prompts [10]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: AKA period-typical punishments of a child/young servant by a senior servant, Almost entirely Virgil-centric, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Death Threats, Double AKA- spanking level violence implied, Fae Logan, Fae Logan is not Human Friendly, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Lamb's ear is a plant!, Poor Virgil, Virgil's Bad Luck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieMorality/pseuds/MagpieMorality
Summary: Virgil hasn't had an easy life, living and working on a manor estate for most of his young life. He's always had a strange connection with the mysterious and dangerous woods that encircle the property, but is that really a good thing?
Series: Fae Sides Prompts [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646839
Comments: 43
Kudos: 98





	1. the woods are just trees

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Hello! I love your writing, and was wondering if you could do "I'll need your name dear." with analogical, fae!logan and human!Virgil. Hurt/comfort if possible. 
> 
> This got wildly out of hand for what should've been a simple prompt, but miracle of miracles it is actually completely written and just waiting to be published chapter by chapter!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We open on Virgil's life, and the woods make their first appearance.

Virgil’s life had never been easy. He’d been born to the wrong parents, poor and uninterested, and despite his obedience and effort to be a good boy as he grew up he’d still ended up somehow a constant disappointment.

Joining the local Lord’s house as soon as he hit ten provided some relief, sure, but it was hard work and he had few friends, spending his meagre time off mostly alone, sitting in his bunk with a hunk of bread and cheese drawing pictures in the dust, only occasionally allowed to go wandering around outside.

On one such trip out he ventured as far as the edge of the immediate house gardens, into the fields that surrounded it towards the local village. At least, he’d intended to go to the village, but had somehow got himself turned around and thoroughly lost first in the strip of woodland that encircled the whole property, cutting it off from the outside world. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a fog rolled in almost as soon as he’d realised his mistake, and the rain starting drizzling down just a few minutes later. It took him until well into the night to stumble his way back, spotting the distant lights of the manor house just as he was ready to give up and sprinting (not very fast, but with all he had left) out of the trees and back to the warmth of the house.

He forgot the soft whisper of distant footsteps that had startled him as he’d wandered too deep, causing him to shy away and turn in a different direction that would eventually lead to safety. He left with his memories foggy, but the important thing was he escaped. And he learned a valuable lesson; do not go into the woods.

The scolding and more that he’d received from the housekeeper when he finally reappeared in the staff quarters several hours late to work, bedraggled and shivering and certainly with a chill coming on, was bad enough to scare him into not straying any further than the front garden for a good long time afterwards, and it wasn’t until the Lord’s son went missing in the woods that he even dared look back at them, wondering if that was the faint hint of fog he could see in between the trunks, wondering if the boy would turn up like he had later that night.

“Did you hear? They said it was a demon!” one scullery maid hissed at another as he hurried past the next day, night having passed with no sign of the boy's return. Virgil rolled his eyes in tandem with the second maid’s audible scoff of disbelief, but inwardly he wondered. The other going rumour was that the poor boy, born wrong according to the few upper house staff that mingled with the rest of them, hadn't got himself lost at all but had been the victim of foul play on the part of his parents, but those rumours were rarely spoken aloud and quickly squashed by senior staff.

Either way, the boy was never found, and the Lord’s wife eventually left the country to warmer climes after developing a chronic fatigue that some called heartbreak for her lost child. Virgil privately thought that they should have probably accepted grief as a valid reason to hate being in the house so much she couldn't bear to stay, so the poor woman could leave in peace without having to make up some illness as an excuse, but he didn’t have strong enough feelings on the matter or the lady in question to correct people when they brought it up, nor would he have ever really dared interrupt, well, anyone. 

A quiet and consistent life was more his speed; unchanging and predictable and as safe as he could hope for. He wanted nothing to do with disappearing boys or spooky woods.

But the woods were not done with Virgil yet.


	2. the trees are just wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan; into the fire for young Virgil. And once more into the woods...

Despite his timidity and habit of staying as utterly inconspicuous and unnoticeable as possible, at the tender age of fourteen and three quarters Virgil was somehow selected to start working with the stable-hands. Perhaps it was his quiet nature that endeared him to animals, or perhaps he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time (or was that the right place and right time?) and had happened to fit the spare boots one of the departing hands had left behind. Either way, he found himself plucked from the main house and dumped unceremoniously into the noisy, frantic and very different world of the stables, surrounded by mess and far too many rough and ready workers. It was a hell of an adjustment period; the people there didn’t bow and scrape; they weren’t constantly on guard for the passing of one of the family or senior staff; and being quiet was regarded as less of a requirement and more of an unusual quirk among the sharp-tongued, joking and hollering hands. Sure there were rules and hierarchies, but honest and hard work was recognised, and rewarded.

For his part Virgil only had to wait two short years before being deemed experienced and trusted enough to start exercising the ponies (not the horses yet, but that would hopefully come in time) alone. And it was _heaven_. He would take whichever of the stocky, cheeky four-legged creatures needed to get out and ride around the grounds, combining the trip with a check of the fences or taking some hay to the carthorses out in the further fields during the summer months. He still never went as far as going into the woods, but… more out of habit than fear, by then. It had been many long, busy years since his bad experience after all, and Virgil was significantly more afraid of things that could provably hurt him- like laziness or carelessness or making a mistake- than a silly old set of trees. And really, what had been so bad about them? It had been his own fault to wander into a place he didn't know during a fog- anyone would get lost in that situation. The trees themselves weren't malicious just because of _his_ mistake.

If only he'd known then what he would later. 

On the eve of his seventeenth birthday Virgil was out with one of the farm ponies that had been retired to the stables to be a companion to the flightier hunting horses. Her name was Rosie, and she had been under the weather and needed gentle exercise, careful handling and some special treatment. The assistant head groom had passed her onto Virgil’s care, with just a hint of a smile on his weathered face as Virgil had puffed up and given the man his best serious, professional nod, accepting the responsibility with the levity the occasion called for. The man hadn't said much, almost as stoic as Virgil was, and probably all the more fond of the boy for their similarity. He'd simply chucked him lightly around the head and told him to get on with it.

The ride out into the grounds was gorgeous. Early Autumn colours gleamed around them and both Rosie and Virgil let out deep breaths as they walked, taking in the fresh, almost sweet air. The grass underfoot was soft, pleasant to walk over, the longer stalks of dry grass tickling his ankles above the tops of his short riding boots. And Virgil was, for the first time in his life, not under any obligation to be anywhere, allowed the gift of being in charge of his own time. What a novel experience! So- he thought to himself- why not sit at the edge of the tree-line by the pond and let Rosie graze while he whittled at a piece of wood? He wasn't even any good at whittling, it just seemed the right thing to do and it was a great way to occupy his hands and eyes so his mind could drift free. The trees were barely even on his radar, and what small frisson of nervousness he did feel when he glanced their way was shoved aside. Virgil was all grown up now, he didn't have time for childish anxieties.

So he sat, and he whittled, and he watched over Rosie while she went to town on the grass around them. And it would've been fine, except the sun was so nice and warm... and the faint breeze coupled with the hum of insects and gentle birdsong, all set to the occasionally quiet huff of air or soft hoof-fall as the pony munched on grass nearby were like a lullaby for the senses… Before long he had reasoned himself into lying flat on his back- just for a moment- and then he was falling into an inevitable, peaceful doze.

The pony was gone when he awoke. And oh, of _course_ it was, because such was his luck, wasn't it? He couldn't have awoken to the sight of Rosie stood at rest a few scant feet away, could he.

"This can't be _happening_ ," he whispered with growing dread, scrambling to his feet and casting about.

For several long minutes he called and called, clicking and whistling and wandering in ever-growing desperate semicircles out from the spot they'd stopped at but seeing no sign of the pony, until only one place remained unsearched. From the position of the sun when he squinted, he could tell he hadn’t been asleep very long, perhaps even less than an hour, so by rights- and unless she'd been spooked which Virgil would certainly have been woken by- he should have seen some sign of Rosie somewhere on the horizon. If she was still out in the open.

And not somewhere in the woods behind him.

The trees almost seemed as though they were laughing at him when he slowly turned to glare balefully at them, their cheery green and gold leaves dancing around joyfully, casting pleasant dappled shadow over their gleaming silver trunks. Deceptively beautiful, and very inviting. Even the ground between the trunks was covered in luscious green, clover and grass near the edges turning to moss slightly further in. It was hard enough to resist as a human with both trust issues and a working memory, but for a hungry pony?

Virgil swore under his breath. "Damn you, Rosie," he muttered, scruffing his hair back from his face, forehead wrinkled in consternation as he wracked his brains for alternatives. How to find her in the woods? She hadn't responded to any of his calls so far-

But _wait_ , there inside and slightly to the left, was that the shadow of a pony? Were those the darned mare’s hindquarters disappearing deeper into the distance or was his mind playing tricks on him? It was oddly dim in between the furthest trees, so Virgil wasn’t totally sure even after squinting intently with a hand up to shield his eyes from the glare from above, but one thing he _did_ know was that the woods would not ruin this opportunity for him. He’d have that pony back, he'd just nip in and get her, and if it turned out to not be quite that easy? Well this time he had all night. 

“Here Rosie,” he called again to make himself feel better about the decision, striding in with a confidence he didn’t feel. Determination, sure- _that_ Virgil felt, but definitely not confidence, and even the determination wavered once he was fully inside. The trees felt colder as soon as he stepped in among them, the green and gold turned sickly chartreuse yellow and the shadows they cast over everything moved like there was some great creature above following him from on top of the canopy instead of just a breeze. Damn his imagination but he couldn't help but think of it that way; not when the whole place felt like it was alive and enjoying his misfortune. “Give her back!” 

It was a foolish thing to shout at a bunch of trees (and it was foolish to shout at trees full stop), but he abruptly remembered the poor Lord’s son. Volunteers from all the villages on the other side of the woods and nearly all the staff of the house and grounds had scoured the trees for several gruelling days after ascertaining that the boy definitely hadn't made it to the other side and run off, but despite the fact that the strip of woodland couldn’t have been more than ten minutes thick, nor truly that dense, he had never been found. Maybe it wasn't demons responsible, as the scullery maid had once suggested, but there wasn't exactly a lack of signs to point to _something_ else going on out of the ordinary. 

And coming to that conclusion, strangely enough, made Virgil feel a hell of a lot better about his own reaction to the place. "I mean it! I won't go without her!" He added, balling his hands into fists and forcing his legs to stop shaking as he kept up his strides, deeper and deeper in. "Rosie! Here girl!"

No pony magically appeared and no voice answered, so Virgil just kept on going. Even if his pride had allowed it he wouldn't dare stop yet- returning without the pony he'd left with would certainly be the end of his job at the manor. He couldn't afford to lose that, and he didn't want to lose to the bloody woods. He _wouldn't_. "You are just- the- worst!" He shouted. With a short growl he stopped and turned to the nearest tree to kick at the bark, tearing strips of the silver, papery stuff off until there was enough loose to get a good grip and start _pulling_. Handfuls were yanked off to flutter to the ground, revealing more and more layers to let his frustration out on until he hit brown- mundane, boring brown- hidden under the shiny silver. Virgil let out a triumphant cry at this tiny, petty revenge, and moved towards the next tree.

Behind him. A whisper of movement.

Virgil whipped around but there was nothing his senses could catch, not even the stirring of birds. "Hello? Rosie?" He added a click but there was no reply, pony-like or otherwise. Well, so attacking the trunk _had_ had some effect, had it?

Again his boot hit bark, and the reaction this time was more noticeable. The shadows lengthened dramatically and the trees around almost looked like they were leaning in towards him in warning. Their leaves twitched and shook in an entirely inorganic way and he smiled, heart racing with adrenaline, fight or flight ticking firmly into fight. "How do you like it n-ah!"

The very air he'd been using to speak the words was stolen quite thoroughly away when he turned around again to try and spot the source of the movement when it came again. There, only a few inches from his face, was _another man's face_. Attached to a body, thank heavens, but _far too close!_

Virgil shouted in alarm as fight turned back to the more familiar flight, and threw himself back into the tree he'd just kicked by reflex, waves of panic washing through him. The man simply stepped forwards in pace with him, expression flat but brown eyes so intense, practically alight as they bored into his own, that Virgil felt as though he was being flayed alive just by being stared at. It was somehow more vicious than any snarl or scowl could ever hope to be. Virgil just about managed to croak "Who are you?" before his air disappeared again and he wheezed desperately.

A silvery eyebrow was raised in response, and the flat line of the man's mouth drew inwards into pursed lips. He stood back away from Virgil, into the dappled light, and the look became a true glare. Scratch his earlier thought- this look was definitely up there with the flat one. "You are _very_ rude." 

The man had a rich, low voice that sounded deeper than it ought to have been from the look of him. But wait, was he a man? Because his ears were pointed and large, and his face was sharp, and he had what seemed to be slit-shaped pupils like a cat, now that Virgil could process properly with some breathing room and a better look. However human he _mostly_ looked; he clearly wasn't just that. To say nothing of his clothes...

" _What_ are you?" Virgil whispered, feeling awe creep in despite his fear. "Wait, did you take Rosie? Do you have my pony?"

"She is gone now. You should be gone too, yet instead you remain, injuring my friends."

"Your friends?" Virgil asked, and the man reached out to lay a long-fingered hand on a nearby tree, not for a moment looking away from Virgil, the meaning clear. "Oh. What? Oh. But-" Maybe now wasn't the moment to get intro a discussion about trees being friends or not. Focus beyond the pounding of your heart in your ears, Virgil, he told himself sternly, turning back to the significantly more pressing matter. "What do you mean by gone? I need Rosie back. I have to take her back to the stables or she'll fall ill, or-"

The man laughed. It wasn't a very nice sound. "'Fall ill'? She is already ill. You people have stolen her freedom, overworked her until sickness has crept in where it does not belong. Where she is now she will never again be shackled by that life, nor by sickness ever again."

"So she's somewhere here then?" Virgil said quickly, picking out what he needed from all that.

This time the man faltered, ears twitching as he went to reply and then visibly rethought and started again. "No... And you can't have her," he added on quickly. "You've been rude and you'll hurt her like you hurt my friends and I'd rather just kill you anyway, wipe out a little of the stain of humanity upon this fair world."

"Give her back!" Virgil snapped, interrupting him boldly. It was fuelled by the sheer volume of adrenaline coursing through his veins, a mix of instinctive fear of this inhuman thing and the aftermath of the fright from first seeing it. "She isn't yours, and I take very good care of her! I'm trying to make her _better_."

"You are a human, you people don't make things better. Ever."

Virgil narrowed his eyes, stepping forwards. The man didn't move, unimpressed by the attempt at threatening behaviour. "And what does that make you, wanting to kill me?" He asked. The man bared his teeth, showing off how cat-like and pointed the incisors were. It made Virgil flinch but he managed to stand his ground. "Very scary," he said, voice weak. "But I still need my pony. Please. If I go back without her I'll be kicked out, I'll lose everything-" The man's scoff showed how pointless that line of bargaining was. Well fine. "If you don't let me take her back then they'll work the others all the harder! You can't steal them all-"

"It's amusing that you think you're ever going to leave the woods again," the man drawled, smiling coldly. "Now enough of this. How about you just go quietly?"

"Wait-!" Virgil barely had time to shout before the man's hand came up to his face. As the palm pressed over his nose and mouth the world slowed down, his own shout echoing strangely in his ears, vision turning to pure, blank white nothing.


	3. and through the trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil awakes to new world. Is there a way out?

The world swam slowly and stubbornly into existence as Virgil woke up again. He kept his eyes closed and pretended to remain unconscious, feeling out his limbs and trying to force his brain back to work while his ears listened to his surroundings. As he focused he registered everything from the dewy grass he was lying on to the soft chuff of pony breath near his shoulder; to a trickling of nearby water and a chorus of strange sounds off in the distance. They weren't insect in orgin, nor birdsong that he recognised, but something between the two like a chitter-squawk that set his nerves on edge instinctively.

"Rosie?" He groaned eventually, thankfully hearing nothing that sounded like the strange man or any other humanoid creature, at least not in his immediate vicinity, which turned out to be a peaceful little forest clearing. He got up warily and walked to Rosie, gently stroking her nose and checking her over for any injuries or marks, just in case. She seemed in perfect condition, lacking her tack but that was all. He'd get in trouble for that when he- _if_ he got back with her later, but that wouldn't be an offence worthy of being fired. Virgil hoped not, at least. "Where have we found ourselves, eh?" He asked aloud, patting the horse absently on her muscled neck as he looked around properly. 

A breeze stirred in the trees. Which were, now that he got a good look at them, the same trees as his own- the very ones he'd been walking through when he'd been attacked, or whatever it was that had technically happened. Kidnapped? In any case, why he was thinking of them as 'his own' he wasn't wholly sure, but it felt accurate. These trees were his, but the world around him was… not. It was all wrong, different and strange despite the presence of the familiar woods and one very happy Rosie. The sky overhead was a rich, dark blue that was almost bright despite its similarity to a regular night sky, and the strange noises in the distance never let up. No stars twinkled overhead, and no sun shone down but Virgil found he had no trouble seeing around, vision perfectly clear (which was also a relief after whatever the man had done to him to make him pass out). The grass carpeting the ground was a creamy white colour that felt like lamb's ear, an incredibly soft, gentle cushion that he'd actually been fairly comfortable lying on in hindsight- he couldn't feel any of the aches or pains one might usually associate with passing out and coming to on hard ground. Not too far away there was a set of several staggered pools that fed one into the other with little waterfalls, varying sizes climbing down in hollows formed in the giant roots of some immense tree that formed a solid quarter of the circumference of the clearing, walling it off from the rest of the forest. Despite the good light down at ground level Virgil couldn't see how tall it was even if he squinted up hard as he could- it vanished far past the others and faded to obscurity into the deep blue of the sky, but the vast size of the trunk indicated it was probably a monstrosity unseen in his world. 

The one thing missing was the strange man who'd brought him here. He wasn't lurking, watching over him and Rosie, nor wandering around in earshot, that was for sure, or he would undoubtedly have shown up by now. So where could he be?

Rosie snickered and nosed at the frowning Virgil to get him to move off a patch of particularly good grass. It made him smile, her contentment, and he had to wonder about the man's claims. _Were_ they hurting the horses by working them? Everyone always said they were better treated than wild horses, not that there were really any of those left. Certainly better treated than many workhorses, with fine food and bedding, good handlers and even medical treatment when unwell, like Rosie was. Or, had been- because her breathing was even and deep and her gait strong and sure as she wandered, missing the slight unevenness and wheezing breaths that he'd been carefully observing. Had the man done this somehow? Had the grass or the water done this, like a strange… magic?

"Tell me Rosie, does magic exist?" Virgil murmured, leaning up against her side and scratching her shoulder affectionately when she nudged him hello. "Were you healed by a witch? Or am I still unconscious somewhere in the woods like a fool, dreaming up strange magical worlds?"

Rosie did not reply, more concerned in that moment with eating every inch of the best grass she'd ever tasted than listening to the stable-boy's crisis.

"I suppose it is a silly question," he admitted, moving away to wander around again. Heading out into the forest away from the clearing and Rosie seemed too risky but that didn't mean he couldn't have a look to see what was out there. Looking, always looking, he thought to himself. When would he finally get to _see_?

Perhaps the woods took pity on his frustration, because in the distance Virgil, for once, actually did see something. A glow of light, a single point growing brighter and larger up from the ground until it solidified in a flare that lit up the forest. Virgil ducked back around behind a tree, chest heaving all of a sudden. The flash had been _man_ _shaped;_ specifically shaped like the man who had put him there. Who was now making his way towards the clearing, blithely unaware that Virgil was spying on him.

There was little time to think, but Virgil was struck by an idea. The man had appeared, possibly by magic, from some strange doorway. Virgil seen what looked like a ring that the man had stepped up and out of- if the stranger had arrived that way then there was a chance that he and Rosie could escape through the same place!

Rosie tossed her head in surprise when he swung abruptly up onto her back and kicked his heels, responding uncertainly to the sudden instruction but moving in the right direction; around the trunk of the giant tree in order to avoid being seen by the incoming man. It seemed to have worked when the approaching footsteps stopped just as they got out of sight. There was a sharp inhalation. Virgil kept Rosie moving, though the trunk was so huge it almost felt as though they'd never round it, but round it they did, and he calmed her to a stop before they went too far and revealed themselves again. 

When Virgil leaned his head forwards to crane his neck and see what was happening, the man was stood in the clearing, leaning over one of the pools with his back to them, thank heavens. He was murmuring urgently into it, and there was no time to waste. With another tap of his heels Virgil set Rosie to moving, racing towards the spot the man had come from, ignoring the cry the stranger let out behind them when he heard them go by. It wasn't at all hard to spot the large circle of mushrooms interwoven with flowers on the ground that _had_ to be the right spot, and Virgil had never been more relieved in his entire life than when- as Rosie placed first one, then two, then all of her hooves inside the circle- it started to light up. 

The flash took them both by surprise, startling Rosie into a bolt. All Virgil could do was hold on for dear life, hoping he wouldn't fall off as her stocky legs blurred. But even as they raced through the trees he could tell- they were back.

On the horizon light shone between the trunks, the comforting sight of open fields beyond, dimmed with the late (or perhaps early) hour but beckoning them onwards, and they at last burst out into the very same field they'd stopped in before their adventure. How much time had passed, Virgil didn't know. It was early dawn though, and the house and stables awaited them in the distance.

He did not think to look back as they cantered home.


	4. it's time to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil faces the music on his return to the stables.

"You must think me an idiot."

"No, sir-!"

"Did you take her to town? Hm? Shall I go visit the blacksmith and see four shiny shoes hanging in his workshop today? Find some extra change in your pocket?"

"Sir I swear I would _never_ -"

"Are you a thief, boy?" Virgil gulped, gripping his sleeves tighter in his white-knuckled hands as the head groom glowered at him, arms folded and face hard as stone. They'd made it back to the stables safe and sound, or as safe and sound as could be under the circumstances. Rosie had been ushered quickly off and was just outside the office Virgil was being berated in, being checked over more thoroughly than Virgil had managed before their escape. The stable hands with her certainly hadn't missed what Virgil had on his cursory glance in the woods; which was that all four of Rosie's iron horseshoes were missing, and not only that but the holes in her hooves the removal of the nails should have left were nowhere to be found- sealed up as though they'd never been there at all. "Quickly!"

"No, sir! It was- I was trying to- someone- t-tried to steal her! I retrieved her from the woods, I swear I didn't do this. He must have, when he had her away from me, it was only a few hours but it had to be him, he took her into the woods, they looked so strange and the sky was different and..."

"And he sang to little pixies that removed her shoes and fed you water turned to wine." The head groom finished with extreme sarcasm, eyeing Virgil critically. "So you're mad as well as careless then? Shame. I suppose at the very least we can definitively find out whether or not you are also a thief. Someone will ride to town shortly and check, and if there are four new shoes for sale..." The ominous tone and sharp expression on the head groom's face made Virgil shrink in fear. If there were new shoes for sale it would only be a coincidence, but they would hardly listen to his protests then. He shoved his hands under his armpits and secretly crossed his fingers. 

With the decision made the head groom called out the door for another hand to get to riding, clapping Virgil's shoulder into a tight grip and moving him to the corner where he was pushed firmly down into a chair and told in no uncertain terms to sit still and not even think about trying to run off. "It won't be worth your boots if you do," the head groom warned. 

"Excuse me," a smooth voice interrupted unexpectedly, startling the both of them and accompanied by a belated knock on the door frame. In through the open office door poked a head, the handlebar moustache, portly silhouette and tweed suit that followed the head in marking the intruder out as someone far outclassing both of the office's prior occupants. The head groom stood up straighter and moved towards the visitor while Virgil hunched in his chair and kept his head down, trying to go unnoticed. "Pardon my intrusion master groom," the man continued, "but I couldn't help but hear that this young man claims to have come back. From the _woods_."

"Don't worry sir, he will be dealt with. Either prison or the madhouse for this one, no doubt. We-"

"No, you misunderstand me," the man interrupted once again, looking at Virgil in such way that Virgil felt he suddenly understood how those stuffed animal heads felt mounted up on the walls of the house- frozen in place as a novelty to be studied. The head groom huffed slightly in indignation at the man's poor manners but dared not say a word. "I would very much like the chance to speak with this young man about his story. I've been investigating several incidences involving those woods, and his observations could prove critical."

The head groom looked at Virgil and sniffed. "Why sir, there is almost certainly no truth to his tall tales. Children's fantasies, the ravings of a mad man or a thief trying to cover his tracks, no doubt. I am quite certain nothing can be gained from listening to what he has to say."

His protestation didn't seem to sway the man whatsoever, and his eyes stayed stuck on Virgil in the corner. "I shall decide that for myself," he replied bluntly, and the head groom's cheeks turned a deep red of impotent anger at being so rudely spoken to, even by a man like this one. "Now be a good fellow and release him to me for further questioning, won't you?"

The head groom's mouth moved for a moment or two, searching for an appropriate way to say he thought the request a ridiculous waste of time (and the man a tremendous cad), but subsided with a helpless shrug, gesturing with a tired wave of his hand for Virgil to follow the man out. Virgil got up slowly, expecting any moment to be told to sit back down, but the two older men simply waited, one with a scowl and one with a gleeful light in his eyes. As they left the office the head groom pulled the door decisively shut behind them, near enough a slam that Virgil winced, but the strange man seemed entirely unbothered and simply started for the exit, patting Rosie's neck gently on the way past.

"Come along," he urged, sounding a little too excited for Virgil's comfort. He wanted to protest, or hesitate, but it wasn't as though he had much of a choice here, and at least this was his chance to be heard and perhaps believed, and thereby _not_ sent to whatever unhappy end they might choose for him. With a last glance back at Rosie and the closed office door, he left the stables behind his possible-saviour, led away across the gravel pathway that surrounded the stables. His footsteps crunched pleasantly over the familiar terrain, giving him something concrete and heartening to concentrate on in order to lift his spirits, at least until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, almost high enough to touch his neck, and he looked up to see the man smiling his strange smile down at him. It made him feel the same feeling as before, and it didn't really help that Virgil didn't recognise the man, but if he said he was investigating the woods who was Virgil to disbelieve that claim? He'd been away from the main house for years, there could almost certainly have been an investigation launched without him hearing about it, especially considering his own habit of staying away from gossip and, well, people in general. Horses didn't tend to share news. And this man _could_ have been a fancy police officer... though Virgil wasn't sure. But he had no knowledge to draw on there, and it faded into just another unfinished thread of thought, abandoned as he was quickly distracted instead by the heat of the man's hand. Which was oddly soothing on his tired muscles, in all truthfulness, even if it was a bit too tight. Why did hoity-toity old men always insist on flinging you around like a ragdoll, anyway? Was it just ingrained in them to do so? Would Virgil end up the same if elevated to a similar status later on in life?

"In here," the man said at last, releasing him from the grip of his smile (but not his hand) when they abruptly reached an ornate wooden door. Virgil blinked as he was ushered inside the room, apparently having been so lost to daydreaming and discomfort that he'd not noticed them reach the house and go inside. Did they use the main or the back entrance, he wondered, trying to remember. Oh well, what did it really matter anyway?

A study awaited them, not the Lord's own private study but one that was still nicely outfitted, with rich blue walls and plush chairs, tall and thin bookshelves dotted around the edges of the room and a sumptuous white rug underfoot. It was well lit though there was no window, and there was a grand desk awaiting them at one end. The man finally relinquished his hold of Virgil and slipped behind the desk, waving enthusiastically at the chair opposite until Virgil perched himself carefully down in it, placing his hands neatly in his lap and waiting politely for questions.

Silence fell, the only noise the background hum of distant water, general movement from around the house, and the occasional harsh sound of a door elsewhere in desperate need of a good oiling. The man steepled his fingers by his chin, elbows propped on the desk, and gazed at Virgil with piercing brown eyes for so long without saying a word that Virgil could feel himself start to sweat. He tried not to look away but the eye contact was excruciating and he had to dart his eyes around just to get some small relief, alighting in turn on the heavy leaf-in-amber paperweight to his left, the shiny chrome lamp with the spiralling vine design to the right and the scuffed, knotted surface of the wooden desk in front of him. Wait, was it scuffed? He frowned and started to lean in to look a little closer.

The sound of a throat clearing rang out like a gunshot in the quiet room and Virgil jumped swiftly back to attention, eyes forwards. "So." The man lay his hands down flat on the desk, keeping up his never-ending intense eye contact. "You've been inside them then. And come out again?"

Was he supposed to reply? Virgil wasn't sure but he slowly nodded, licking his dry lips to confirm out loud with a slight rasp, "yes."

"Fascinating, and you-"

"Twice," Virgil added quickly, in case it was relevant. From the way the man's eyes widened and his whole body jerked instantly forwards as though drawn to the words; it was.

"I'm sorry did you say _twice_?!"

Was that bad? Oh Virgil hoped it wasn't bad. His stomach churned unpleasantly but the man was waiting for a reply and he forced it out. "I- yes? The first time was… a long time ago. I don't remember it clearly but I went in, and I came out. Am I in trouble?"

"Oh good _lord_ boy, no," the man laughed, breathless and giddy. "Quite the opposite. Now," he turned brisk, business-like as he grabbed a notebook and pen, leafing through to an empty page. "You don't remember the first clearly, but the second was just last night if I heard correctly?" At Virgil's nod he started to jot down notes. "Go ahead, tell me everything you can. About your most recent trip first, before the memories fade, and then we will move onto the original encounter…"

Time blurred and what followed was a painfully long interrogation that Virgil hated with a passion. Not just because he was unused to and uncomfortable with talking for so long in company, but because the man seemed determined to get every last detail from the depths of his brain, weaselling tiny pieces of information out by asking question after question after trivial question until Virgil thought he may have just about recounted every millisecond of the past twelve or so hours, most of it utterly irrelevant such as the fabrics he'd been wearing and the number of trees he'd damaged. 

Moving on to questions about the previous trip to the forest went no better. Virgil was starting to forget even the simple answers by that point and his stomach churn had turned from nerves to hunger as the hours passed by with no end in sight.

"What do you mean you don't remember?" The man snapped, tapping his pen- tap tap tap- in a quick rhythm on the desk that had Virgil wincing as his head throbbed.

"It was a long time ago sir, I was young and afraid and thought little on it since-"

"But there must be something!"

"I didn't see anything like last night, I would remember that I swear."

"Not a sign of this man or-"

"Honestly sir, that's really all I can tell you!"

"Well in that case, there's only one more thing I'll need and then you can go," the man sighed, drumming his long fingers on the scuffed wooden desk. The relief of that statement was unlike anything else, except perhaps the feeling of escaping the strange woods that very morning. Virgil's spine creaked as he sagged in place, arms limp on the desk in front of him. The scuffed groves and marks felt deep and myriad against his skin, pressed firmly into his forearms and the heels of his hands, a sharp but solid sensation to focus on. 

And he needed to focus. "What's that, sir?" Virgil asked. His own voice sounded distant and slow as he tried to subtly examine the strange table. The look of it was simply a well used wooden desk, but the feel of it told a different story; raw tree bark, with all its bumps and furrows and knots. He shook his head to try and match the two warring impressions together. Alarm bells rang in his mind but a thought rose up, almost loud enough to drown them out- perhaps the head groom had been right and he really _was_ going mad… 

"I'll need your name," the man sa- the man purred. Virgil's head shot up and the piercing eyes stared back. "Just for my records, you understand."

"I- didn't give it to you already?" Playing for time seemed like a good idea until the wheels struggling to turn in his fuzzy head could reach the conclusion of _what on earth was going on_. He felt sluggish, and glancing around he realised that the only thing that seemed to be in focus anymore was the man sat opposite him. The bookshelves were all melting upwards in tall, silver lines and the walls flowed endless rich blue up out of their way. The lamp's vine detailing started to fade from chrome to brown and green, but so slowly it almost felt as though there was no change happening at all, that it was just as it always had been... He couldn't really remember what it had originally looked like anymore. Hadn't it been colourful since they'd first sat down?

A door creaked strangely and the noise reminded him of another, made by something he'd never seen and was glad not to. 

The man clicked his tongue and things briefly wavered back into the original room. "No, unfortunately not. Would you be so kind as to oblige?"

"What did you say you were investigating?" Virgil asked desperately. The man frowned, and the room wobbled again. 

"Incidences in the woods."

"What incidences?"

The frown deepened and Virgil gulped. "Disappearances, of course. What else?"

Now there was something for Virgil's flailing mind to latch onto. "But there haven't been any disappearances lately. Not for years, so why now all of a sudden-"

"Your name!"

"Where am I?" Virgil countered desperately.

The man stood so smoothly and swiftly to his feet that Virgil almost thought he'd been stood all along, mind whimpering at the constant assault of what it knew being overwritten by what it should have always known. His palms slapped down with a crack on the desk that wasn't a desk but a fallen tree _and always had been_ and Virgil could do nothing except stare. "I need your name."

"You can't have it," Virgil whispered back with courage he did not feel, clearing his throat to try again in a stronger voice. "You can't have it. We're not in the house at all, are we- we're in the _woods_."

As though waiting for his words the study finally finished it's unravelling. The walls bled away up into the blue of the odd sky, bookshelf trees taking their place. The water in the distance that should never have been heard inside the house was louder and the insect-bird sound had never been doors at all. The texture of what had been the desk matched what Virgil's fingers had told him he'd felt when he'd touched it and he enjoyed the tiny thrill of victory at seeing the truth of it. The lamp was vine-covered branch sticking out off the tree trunk and the man… was no longer portly and wearing tweed. In front of Virgil, across the large log, stood the strange man from the night before, enraged. "How very clever of you. But a little cleverness won't save you now, when you're here where I want you and won't get a chance to leave _ever_ again. Your name."

"What if I don't give it to you?"

"Then I will make your life very miserable indeed!"

"And if I do?"

The man blinked, tilting his head slightly as he considered that option, sitting back and softening somewhat. It was quite clear he'd expected it to be a fight all the way. "Well then your life will be less miserable," he said slowly, watching Virgil closely, but without the same intensity that had been so unbearable. 

Virgil chewed on his lip. It was a dilemma for sure, but now that he knew there wasn't actually a man investigating the woods and therefore no man to vouch for his story, he was back to relying on pure luck. If they found shoes at the blacksmith that was it for him. If not and he managed to get away and tried to explain _this?_ "Would you let me go?"

"Not a chance. You've escaped twice, though I have no idea how you've managed it, do you think I'd let that happened a third time? No."

"Then why should I tell you?"

"I-" the man faltered, glancing briefly away while he thought of a response. He lifted his finger to the vine drooping towards him and brushed it gently. "I suppose… it would make your life here more comfortable?"

It wasn't a bad offer, Virgil thought. So, he wouldn't be dead, at least, nor in prison or stuck in the madhouse (which were one and the same really) and what was he leaving behind if he couldn't go back, really? Other than maybe the horses and a few sort of friendly colleagues (not friends though, never quite that)- there wasn't much. He had no one who would truly miss him and no life he would particularly miss himself, if he was honest about it. The strange man was terrifying, certainly, but he hadn't actually harmed Virgil once, and if he was to be a prisoner then he would very much prefer to be a prisoner in comfort than whatever 'make your life very miserable indeed' was meant to imply.

Still, it was a scary thought; never leaving the woods again. Becoming another warning story.

Like the Lord's son.

"What happened to the boy?" Virgil asked, gazing into the distance absently as he tried to picture it. "The one after me, about six years ago. He got lost and was never found. Did you take him?"

The man lifted his chin regally, or perhaps defensively. "I don't know who you mean," he lied. 

"Oh, really?"

"Not one bit."

"Just- is he alive? Somewhere, in this weird world of yours? Can you tell me that, or did you kill him?"

The strange man, who had started to turn away from the questions, quickly looked back with a fierce scowl, baring his sharp teeth. "I _saved_ him! He was sick, down to his very bones he was sick. I took him and saved him and gave him a better life than he ever could have had!"

"He was a child, his parents thought he'd died!" Virgil gasped, reeling from the answer. 

"His parents-" The man took a few heaving breaths, clenching his fists. "His _parents_ were the ones who drove him right into my arms! He was perfectly fine and they insisted on giving him medicines, on behaving as though the marks on his face made him broken. Humans! You kill everything that's good in your world in the name of moral propriety! I only take the things I can help. Like your pony. Like the boy."

And me? Virgil almost asked, but he held back the words. The strange man's expression shifted as though thinking the same thing, eyes going wide for a moment, but he just set his jaw stubbornly again when their eyes met.

It was so far from what Virgil could have ever imagined the truth of the matter to be that he just stared, wide-eyed, at the strange man. It didn't take long for the silence to clearly ruffle the man, who added, "yes, he's alive. And if you give me your name then you might even get to meet him. If not then I will-"

"Yes, I know, miserable life and all that," Virgil sighed quietly. There was no contest. One choice was folly and the other... entirely logical. "If I'm honest this could even be an improvement," he murmured to himself. And a strange sort of birthday present. He smiled faintly, decision made. "Well I don't know if there's anything you can do to help me-" he was rewarded by a slight softening of the man's stern, sharp features, a slight sympathy if Virgil was reading it right. "-but very well. Let me be just another poor soul lost in the woods, I suppose. They've waited long enough to keep me."

The man blinked as Virgil's hand was thrust out towards him, only slightly trembling in the air between them. 

"My name is Virgil."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's an end to this little story inspired by a prompt on tumblr! Thanks for reading along ^^


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